


Just Sleep

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [42]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 42: John sits with his sick son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

John isn’t that easily reassured, as Jim tries to talk some sense into him, he keeps breaking his gaze away from Jim’s, until finally the pastor just sighs, and John goes on up the stairs, two at a time. His youngest son is asleep, Dean sprawled in a chair next to the bed. And glaring at his father.

“You wake him, you’ll fucking be sorry,” come the soft words, and he’ll be having words with Dean about the tone in a minute. Instead, he moves up to the bedside, studying Sam’s flushed face, the light restless breathing that he’s seen a few times before when the boy’s had the flu. He takes a deep, relieved breath, and beckons to Dean, who rolls his eyes but gets up.

John gives his oldest son a little push into the spare bedroom and closes the door behind them. Dean shoots his father a dirty look.

“Dude, didn’t Jim explain anything? He’s got the flu, ok, Dad? Been pushing too hard, he’ll be fine. He’s just not sleeping very soundly. He’ll be good to go in a day or two, if this is the last of the fever.”

John sighs. Same information as Jim gave him. He nods, then jerks his oldest son to him, lands a couple of swats on his backside, not anything that will give him trouble sitting later, but enough to sting for a couple of minutes. Dean’s shuffling away looking hurt, and John backs him right into sitting down on the end of the bed while he stands over the boy.

“I know you’re exhausted from looking after your brother. I know you wanted me to stay away so I wouldn’t get sick too. You,” he says, emphasizing the pronoun, “will stay in here and get some rest while I sit with Sammy, because I can’t think of any other good reason why you’d be mouthing off to me like that, son. And it’s not ‘dude,’ it’s ‘dad,’ all right?”

Dean looks a little shamed, flushing, and he’s tired enough to fidget in place, trying to take his weight off his stinging backside. “Sorry.” John nods, and puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder that tells the kid he understands, that he’s not really mad, just a little irked with his mouthiness. Nothing new there.

“Jim said you’d had a flu shot – why hasn’t Sam had one?”

“Didn’t think about it. Doc got me when I sprained my wrist last fall. You never do it.”

“Oh yes I do. And I’ll make sure I take both of you with me next time, or get hold of the vaccine and do it myself.”

Dean winces at the threat, watches his father pull back the bed covers, and decides that he’s too tired to argue more, and he sure doesn’t feel like watching Sam wake up and puke all over the place yet again if his father’s volunteering for it. He kicks off his sneakers, and scoots back on the bed.

“Jeans too, it’s late. If you sleep through ‘till morning that’s all good, I’m pretty awake.” John smiles, realizing the boy’s fallen asleep before doing more than unbuttoning the bluejeans. He works the denim gently off of the slim hips and long legs, and covers him up. God knows he should have done it more when they were boys.

He’s glad to see that Sam sleeps soundly until morning, more ready to believe the other men that his youngest is nearly well again. Still, he’s not surprised when Sam wakes up vomiting some hours later, just grabs the bucket by the bedside and minimizes the damage. Sam always seems to react to influenza this way, they’ve never figured out why. Only this time, Sam’s stammering out embarrassed apologies as John cleans up, handing Sam a washcloth for his face and a glass of water to rinse his mouth with. He’s also not surprised when Dean meets him at the door of the room to take the bucket from him, gives Dean a calm nod, glad that the older boy slept the night through. He takes the glass from Sam’s hot hand, and bathes the feverish face himself with a second cloth.

“Aw, Dad- I can get it.”

John gives him an amused look. “Not like I haven’t done it before, son.”

“Been taking care of myself for years,” Sam snarks, blushing.

“And like Dad and I can’t take care of you better than you can,” replies Dean. “What gives?”

“’M feeling better. Can clean up after myself.”

“Sammy, it’s not a big deal. Who do you think took care of you when you were little? Your dirty diapers didn’t change themselves, you know.” John gives him a knowing look.

“No kidding,” adds Dean.

Sam is now an absolutely brilliant shade of red. “Can we leave my childhood out of it?”

“I don’t know,” quips John, “are you through with being a child? Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

“Daaaaad…” The word is practically a moan, and John relents, even though he’s dying to mention that Sam’s practically signing the proof like an engraved invitation.

“You’re feeling better, then?”

Sam nods, relieved to have the subject changed. “Little tired, achy still.” Years of training have drilled into him that it’s better to not lie about how he’s feeling.

Dean moves in with a thermometer. “Let’s see.”

Sam must be feeling better, because his first move is to raise his hand to bat the thermometer away, and his second is to drop it as he glances between his big brother and his father, fingers tapping on the bedspread.

“Good choice, Sam.”

Sam’s only reply is to roll his eyes at his brother and tolerate having his temperature taken. It’s normal for the first time in days, and all three of them are relieved.

“Guess Jim was right. Good thing, too, boys, there’s a couple of jobs waiting on us, think we’ll have to split up. Maybe get the research done from here while Sam gets back to normal.”

“Dude, he’s never normal.”

John collars his oldest boy, and messes up the carefully groomed hair. “What did I say about calling me dude?” The room is filled with laughter, with his sons’ laughter, and even though he’s tired, it fills him with relief. Everything is fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Depeche Mode - Violator


End file.
